


Harry's Ohana

by sifshadowheart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), James Bond (Craig movies), NCIS
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Tony DiNozzo, Color-Swapped Harry Potter, Daddy Tony, F/F, F/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Intersex Omegas, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Not Ziva Friendly, Polyamory, Red-Haired Harry Potter, Slash, Tony DiNozzo Leaves NCIS Team, intersex Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15989330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: A one-night stand should be just that: one night away from the rest of their lives.  An aberration not to be repeated.  Too bad Hariel's body didn't get the memo.A non-magical A/B/O a/u fandom mash-up with a lot of slash but not much smut.





	1. An Agent and a Spy Walk Into a Bar

** Harry’s Ohana **

**A Harry Potter/NCIS/Hawaii 5-0/James Bond Crossover**

**_By Sif Shadowheart_ **

Disclaimer:  Harry Potter, NCIS, James Bond, and Hawaii 5-0 are the property of their respective owners, this is a work of fan-fiction for entertainment purposes with no monetary gain attached.

 ** _WARNING:_** This is both a non-magical alternate universe and an Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamic story including but not limited to Intersexed Omega Males, Male Pregnancy, and Polyamory.

I’ve really cherry-picked what I wanted from the aforementioned fandoms.  This is a modern setting inline with the timeline for NCIS more than anything else and will take place in an alternate Hawaii 5-0 universe.

**Slash, Mpreg, A/U, Non-Magical**

 

**Prologue: An Agent and a Spy Walk Into a Bar**

_February 1, 2007; Washington D.C._

_Very_ Special Agent Anthony “Tony” DiNozzo was drawn into the bar by the sounds of low saxophone and steady bass.

He’d wandered far from his normal haunts, seeking a bit of something – anything – to get him out of his own head, out of his cover identity, out of his mask as Jeanne’s boyfriend to get information on her arms-dealer father, out of the role of Gibbs’ faithful St. Bernard, and let him just _be_ for a moment before he forgot who Tony was under all the rest of the crap that’d been piled on him in the last year or more, ever since a rogue Agent from Mossad managed to kill his partner and another wormed her way onto his team.

Inside the low-lit bar, he found a scattering of the usual suspects: older beta gentlemen and their ladies with a love of jazz, an obligatory alpha wannabe-mobster in the corner, the jaded bartender polishing glasses, nothing to surprise and exactly what he was looking for.

Even, with a single glance at a tall drink of water posted up on a barstool nearest the stage, a distraction better than any glass of cognac and jazz for the night.

 _Omega_ , his alpha instincts whispered at a single scenting of the bar as Tony went over to the bar and gave his order, raising his glass in silent salute to the male omega who was quite the picture.  He had his elbows leaning back on the bar behind him, one foot clad in red-soled leather hooked on the barstool’s lower rung as his far-leg dangled down putting him in a near-arch showing off every line of his lithe, elegant body with the long torso of a male omega necessary to provide the internal room for two sets of sex organs.  Almost too pretty for classical handsomeness, he was the – smoking a cigar and letting smoke all-but-fall from his lush lips – androgynous perfection that belonged to the rarest section of society, the sought-after omega.

And no matter what propaganda the conservative politicians tried to spout, the most _dangerous_ section of society as Tony well knew from both his career as a detective and as a federal agent.

Ari would have taught him that when he shot Caitlin cold and played with all of them at NCIS for nearly a year if nothing else.

If this was one of Tony’s normal haunts or a place he’d ever been before in his life, he would instantly be on guard.

As it was…all he saw was more temptation than any self-respecting unbonded alpha would turn away from even if he wasn’t in the market for a distraction for the evening.  If an omega like _that_ couldn’t get him out of his own head – from the top of his rich crimson head to the bottoms of his Louboutins – then nothing could.  Hazel eyes caught his own jade green gaze, not an ounce of anything but confidence dripping from them in wordless beckon.

Far be it from Tony to keep a beautiful omega waiting.

Trailing one hand down the edge of the silk-smooth wood of the old bar rail, Tony stopped just an inch too close into the omega’s space.

“Tony.”  He introduced himself, leaning in even closer to brush his breath against one ivory-shelled ear that glowed even in the dusk of the bar.

Hazel eyes dancing between green and gold under the lights lifted.

Red-heads were usually his boss, Gibbs’, kryptonite but if any of his ex-wives had looked like this Tony could see why.

“Hariel.”  The omega tapped out his cigar in the crystal ashtray on the bar.  “Charmed, I’m sure.”  Rising to his feet, the omega, Hariel – a bit of an atypical name even if the unisex nature of it was as expected as the lush British accent was not – stood, smirking a bit with a wicked glint in his eyes as Tony failed to move back, pressing that long, lithe body against his own runner’s form before moving around him, only looking back at a watchful Tony when he was three paces away.  “Well?”  Hariel asked, smirk moving into a full-on wicked grin.  “Aren’t you coming?”

“Not yet.”  Tony tossed out a grin of his own as he fell into step just behind that lean form.  God.  He _loved_ a confident omega, especially the type that wasn’t looking for the Mr. Right Alpha trope that society tried to brainwash them into but operated on a first-name-only basis.  “But I have high hopes.”

Omegas like Alphas were more instinctual, more need-driven than their Beta counterparts.

Traditional thought said that such was why early bonding was the best “solution” to said needs.

Traditional thought was boring and also the reason why in a lot of countries both omegas and beta females had to fight for equal rights under the law, making _traditional thought_ as much of a fucker as the assholes that tried to advocate for it in the halls of congress.

Following behind an omega that moved with a trained elegance Tony’d seen on both Ari and his beta sister who was now a permanent member of Tony’s team Ziva, made him glad he’d never been one for tradition even as he followed said omega all the way to a five-star hotel, a bedroom, and silken sheets that led to perhaps one of the best nights of his life.

A night cut far too short with a single phone call in the morning.

“DiNozzo.”  Turning he glanced back over his bare shoulder at the rumpled form of Hariel, a form that had taken more effort than he’d thought to make look so thoroughly debauched from the reddened marks on ivory skin to the bedhead of crimson hair that turned a bit dark fiery auburn in the early morning sun.

“We got a case.”  Gibbs’ grouchy voice came over the air.

“On your six, boss.”  Tony sighed, taking one last glance over his shoulder before he hung up his phone at the click from Gibbs doing the same.  Moving quietly through the room he collected up his clothes, glad that he kept a go-bag in his car even though he’d have to catch a cab back to where he’d left it last night.

Returning to the bed after he’d dressed, he debated with himself for a long moment before making a decision and crossing back to Hariel’s side.  Placing his palms flat on the bed beside the redhead’s pillow, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to one smooth ivory cheek, then the elegant curve of a shoulder.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”  He whispered his goodbye, then turned from the room and was gone.

…

003, operative and analyst for Her Majesty’s Special Intelligence Service, also known as Hariel James Potter, wasn’t your normal Omega, even for one that had been specially recruited from his graduating class at Oxford to join the SIS.

That Hariel was also Lord Potter despite his Omegan status was solely thanks to a single piece of legislation that had been signed into law in the UK in 1972 called the Equal Inheritance Act which prevented courts and institutions of law or estate executors from preventing an Omega or female Beta from inheriting based on their primary and secondary genders.

Still, it hadn’t been his status as Lord Potter that had drawn the eye of the indomitable M, nor had it been his degree in Business and Forensic Accounting, nor his time as a Royal Marine Cadet or with the RAF’s university air squadron as he tried to decide whether to join the Royal Marines or the RAF after college.

It was surviving three attacks upon his person before reaching eighteen years of age.

Hariel found himself recruited along with his cousin Caelum by the SIS before either could blink, both serving first strictly as analysts as they worked to protect the country their families had a long line of serving, before a year into their service a double-oh slot had opened and M had moved Hariel into the opening as a fully-vested operative.

He was a spy and a killer.

Odd, some would think for an Omega, but _not_ when one considered that as an Omega he possessed the drive of a male to protect those he loved and the ferocity of a mother to do the same.

Channeling those drives into his work had done a great deal to keep himself sane when the society he moved through in his civilian persona looked askance at unbonded Omegas of his and his cousin’s ages.

His latest run-in with such had driven him to a smoky jazz club Caelum had found for him, his cousin slotting into position as Hariel’s handler a year after he’d been made 003.  DC society wasn’t the same as that of the bluebloods he dwelled among in London but at the same time it was all the same.  A charity event was doing double-duty for Hariel, tracking a target and brushing up his Lord Potter persona all at the same time, though a few of the weak-willed and weaker-chinned beta males and alphas that had made passes at him had made him wish he wasn’t playing _himself_ so that he could take his preferred painful response to importuning hands that patted his arse or lingered on his hands or arms.

The bar offered a few things in particular Hariel required when he wanted to unwind: a decent selection of Scotch, mellow music – jazz, blues, or otherwise, and while quiet had enough of a clientele to leave the _possibility_ for a discrete liaison away from the judging eyes of high society on the table.

He’d brought his own cigars.

Though, this being the States, he thought he’d have more of a challenge regarding the latter when a few wrinkled noses, but the snicker from the barkeep when he’d brought over a dusty crystal ashtray made him think that this particular establishment must have some sort of protection regarding anti-smoking laws.

Perhaps being billed as a private club or some such.

Hariel leaned back against the bar in a flaunting show of his lean omegan body, smirking to himself at the glares _that_ got him from the same nose-wrinklers as before, slowly working his way equally between a highball of Scotch and his cigar, letting the music roll over him and relax him to the point that he was about to call it a night after dismissing more than one alpha or beta who’d approached him since he’d posted up near the stage when a fine bit of Alpha wandered in from the cold February night.

Arching a brow, Hariel let his eyes drag from the tips of Italian-shod feet to the messily-ruffled brown hair, inspecting the long – and strong – legs of a runner and the broad shoulders under fine tailoring that spoke of an active sort, sport of some kind, while the sharp gaze that took in the bar in a single glance was all training.

A mix of military and either criminal or law enforcement or Q could send him out on his next op with only a water pistol.

His face was almost too pretty for an alpha and that body was just what the doctor – or handler – ordered for a bit of mutual decompression if Hariel was reading him at all correctly, with a confidence as the alpha moved towards him that spoke more of an arrogant assurance in his own charms more in line with Bond than the raw animal sexuality of Trevelyan.

All the better.

James might not be Hariel’s cup of tea – he’d leave _that_ morass of issues for Q, thank you very much – but he couldn’t deny 007 was a sexy bastard of an alpha.

Another cut from the same cloth should be _more_ than capable of wearing Hariel out.

And when Hariel woke to the irritating sound of a softly-buzzing cell phone in the wee hours of the morning, with a pleasant, languorous ache in his muscles and a lingering buzz of bliss in his head, he’d say that Tony had been _more_ than up to the job of stress reliever, though he was a bit put out that any ideas of another round had been squashed before it could really be entertained.

Listening even as he kept up the façade of sleep, Hariel was pleased to overhear enough to know that he’d been right: law enforcement, and to gain a last name to go with the first – if Tony was his real name.

Definitely Italian then with a name like Tony DiNozzo, even if the looks and the clothes hadn’t given it away along with his slipping into Italian endearments when his blood was up.

Hariel nearly gave himself away with a happy purr when Tony leaned in and kissed him goodbye.

Too bad that the charity event was over and he was due back in London.

He wouldn’t mind another go around with Tony, even if he had to “accidentally” find himself at one of the other man’s favorite haunts or three to accomplish it.

Little did either of them know that their night together left them with more than fond memories and a languorous release for a night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses on Harry's half of the story whilst the next one will focus on Tony.

** Harry’s Ohana **

_Author’s Note: Here’s the breakdown on how A/B/O works in this universe:_

_Alphas: 30% of the population, can be male or female with male more common, female alphas can’t get pregnant (no uterus, internal testes in place of ovaries) but can impregnate others._

_Betas: 50% of the population, can be male or female in equal measure._

_Omegas: 20% of the population, are intersexed (having both sets of sex organs), can identify as male, female, or agender depending on personal preference, cultural norms, peer pressure, etc._

_Full legal rights including body autonomy for Omegas wasn’t in place until 1978 in the US and 1983 in the UK and most of the EU countries though they were allowed to equally inherit and vote by 1972._

_Ability to serve in the military for Omegas was established worldwide (mostly) during WWI, with some countries legalizing it earlier and some later, only a few third-world countries currently disallow Omegan participation in “high-risk” fields such as the military, intelligence, and law enforcement._

**One: 1+1 = 3**

_June 9, 2007; London, England_

Hariel would be the first one to decry the idea that he had _any_ sort of friendship with his fellow 00 operative James Bond.

Conversely, he would _also_ be the first one to admit that he was a stubborn ass with a propensity to overlook or outright ignore things he’d rather not think about, lingering mental/emotional scar tissue that had never faded from being dumped from the bosom of a happy, loving extended family into the laps of some spectacular examples of horrific humanity. 

In the Dursley household, ignorance wasn’t just bliss, it was survival with his sanity intact.

Indeed, if it weren’t for the spot-check the executor of his parents’ wills and estate manager Clive had done after tiring of being given the run-around regarding the child over which he had joint legal custody of, Hariel would have said that his willful ignorance regarding just how shitty his circumstances were would have been the only thing that allowed him to gain adulthood with some semblance of being a functional human being.

That said, when it came to his willful blindness, there was none he could count on to point it out better than his not-a-friend James, his fellow operative and paramour of his admitted friend Q.  His cousin Caelum would often give it a go as well as his best and longest friend Neville, but of them all James had a singular ability: annoying him until he wasn’t _capable_ of ignoring James any longer.  Given that James likewise wasn’t afraid of his infamous temper or the strength of his punch, which both Caelum and Neville were _far_ too familiar with to ever disrespect, it worked out well for all parties involved.  Well.  Perhaps except for the walls, mats, punching bags, and gun/knife targets Hariel had taken out a James-induced temper on over the years lest an innocent bystander bear the brunt of it.

Like Alec Trevelyan that one time or Edward Paddington the time before that, after which M had made her displeasure of Hariel’s working out his _issues_ with James on their fellow 00’s _quite_ clear.

Hariel maintained that Alec had it coming for being a smarmy git and Edward for being a misogynistic prick but that was neither here nor there when it came to obeying Mum.

On this particular day, James found him training in the 00’s proprietary training center in the bowels of MI6’s headquarters, which shared the sublevels of the complex with Q’s workshops, Hariel hanging from a salmon ladder as he worked steadily through the labor-intensive full-body maneuver, eyeing him with a gaze that – if Hariel was any judge – was an even split between concerned and considering as it studied his long form from the steady grip on the heavy steel bar to the pale tips of bared feet.

003 had always been one for body-weight workouts over weight lifting such as the salmon ladder, planking, and various gymnastics that took advantage of his lithe Omegan strength that lacked the bulk and mass of Alpha operatives like Alec or James himself.

Hariel wouldn’t sit down to arm-wrestle either of them but neither would they willingly get into a footrace with him.

Once on the latter was quite enough, _thank you_ , James would prefer to never have to cover 003’s bar tab ever again, let alone what his handler was capable of putting away, a more dangerous pair of Omegas James had never seen, though James’s own bonded mate Q could give them a run for their money when it came to sheer creative viciousness.

Which is likely, in James’s not-so-professional opinion, that for an omega and agent with an infamous temper like 003, the Quartermaster of MI6 otherwise known as Reginald Paddington or “Q” for short, had never had it unleashed upon him nor even vaguely focused in his direction.

003, more than once, had struck James as being particularly well aware of on which side his scone was buttered.

A trait that if more of the analysts and operatives of MI6 would care to learn from would save Q from many headaches and James from many nights of handing his love a highball of scotch and a foot-rub when one idiot or another lost some valuable proprietary tech or, worse in James’s opinion, got stroppy with his little love.

That lingering glance James had taken as Hariel rested before beginning the descent back down the ladder was enough for his mate’s suspicions, confided to James during a round of said-scotch-and-foot-rub, to resound through his mind.

Normally such a suspicion could be settled with a single scenting.  However 003, like all active operatives, took a daily regimen that was deadly-serious for their survival.  One of scent neutralizers that had all of them smelling like healthy, unbonded operatives rather than whatever the reality might be, hence James’s ability to flirt and attract with impunity even if since mating his beloved he would never follow through.

M had had to find a new favorite alpha male honeypot, a position that had been speedily filled by their newest 00, 002, following Edward’s retirement from active status to analyst following a near-deadly operation that left him with a permanent limp and a chunk of muscle missing from his right calf.

Scent neutralizers saved their collective hides more often than not _but_ they left their handlers with no choice but to rely on other signifiers and medical tests to search out changes in their charges and had James turning ideas through his mind for how to make his not-friend aware of what Q and Caelum suspected regarding the foremost Omegan spy in the world bar-none.

For the sake of the agency, James hoped that they – and even he – were wrong.

Replacing Hariel would be far more difficult than 002.

For the sake of his not-friend…well.

That depended on how Hariel reacted and the situation regarding the other party that may or may not be involved in this interesting and baffling turn of events.

Scent neutralizers weren’t the only regimen they were all on of course, which left him in a lingering bafflement of _how_ , which he fathomed wouldn’t even _begin_ to touch on what Hariel’s reaction was likely to be.

Though if 003 _was_ aware, he was doing a damn-fine job of fooling everyone around him or else James wouldn’t be here to make him aware of what was going on with his own body _if_ in fact – which the closer he watched and catalogued his not-friend the more certain he grew – Q’s observations were spot-on.

“How long have you known?”  Came Hariel’s low, sultry tones, not a trace of his exertion on the salmon ladder marring their even voice.

Considering that it figuratively knocked James for six – even just for a split-second – he found that lack of exertion on the other’s part rather infuriating to be quite honest.

Even so, it was quite _Hariel_ of him.

“Known, about two seconds.”  James admitted.  “Suspected…about a day though I couldn’t say how long Q has been eyeing you.”  He paused a long moment as Hariel finished his repetitions before releasing the bar of the ladder and landing lightly on his feet, turning to pick up a sweat rag and mopping himself off before turning to give James his full-attention.

Hariel nodded then drank down a good half of the tall bottle of ice water he pulled out of one of the gym’s refrigerators.

“And Mum?”

“Oh, you know Mum.”  James grinned, the gestured shared by his male omega counterpart for a moment before they both sobered.  “Probably had an idea before any of us, even you.  What happened Harry?”

“When two people love each other _very_ much…”  His not-friend began to snark as he plopped with a heavy sigh down onto a weight bench, James coming over to lean on the weight bar as Harry straddled the bench facing him.

“Ha ha.”

Hariel gave a mere shadow of his normal devil-may-care grin.

“Close as I can figure out from research, no contraceptive is _completely_ fool-proof and that 0.01% chance of it failing is bumped up in the case of Omegan physiology when one comes into contact with a _particularly_ well-suited, biologically speaking, partner, usually an Alpha, even without Heat or Rut being induced.”  Hariel rattled off with chilly efficiency that proved out just how fiercely his not-friend was struggling to stay objective as he considered his options.

At least, that’s how it read to James, who knew the other 00 better than any of their fellow operatives.

_Chilly_ wasn’t generally in Hariel’s wheelhouse outside of assassinations – where he became one of the coldest operatives on the damn _planet_ especially if terrorism was involved – as despite his position as a Lord and operative, Hariel was often one of the most vibrantly _alive_ people James had ever met, a persona that rather distinctly failed to lend itself towards expressions of cold calculation.

“Do you have a _name_ for this _particularly well-suited_ Alpha?”  James arched a brow.

Harry sighed, nodding but grimacing at the same time.

“Ah,” James winced.  “Married?”

Given the sort of liaisons 00’s tended to have – including James before becoming a happily-mated Alpha – it wouldn’t have been all the surprising though Hariel’s quick head-shake negated that idea.

“Worse.”  His tone was as dry as the Sahara.  “Undercover.”

“Ooh.”  James’s wince was even deeper than the last.  “Rotten luck old boy.  Any idea when he’ll be pulled out of his op?”

“Since from what I can tell it’s strictly off-books for his agency’s head trying to get an in into René Benoit’s organization…”

And the dry tone continued as James hissed under his breath at the name belonging to an arms dealer and broker that MI6 kept as firm eye on but had yet to engage.

“No.”  Harry admitted the ugly truth.

“And because of the nature of the op they’re not going to pull him with the agency head involved unless it’s one of ours and we would both know about any ongoing ops of that sort from our sort.”  He snorted.  “Or been involved at the get-go.”  James sighed, looking down at his weary not-friend.  “Really Harry, your luck…”

“Uncanny in one way or another since toddlerhood, that’s me.”  Hariel tried a smirk but even he could tell it fell flat.  “Looks like Mum is going to have to replace her second 00 in a row to retirement.  She gets one more and she’ll have a record on her hands so try not to die, yes James?”  This time his smirk had a bit of his usual panache.  “I’d _hate_ to see Q all sad and mopey over your arrogant arse.”

“I’ll do my best, Harry.”  James snarked right back before sobering.  “What are you going to do?”

“I have a few safe houses off the books, the same as any 00 with sense.”  Harry admitted, sighing heavily.  “With a mini-me – or mini- _him_ – on the way, looks like I’ll have to dust one off.  Caelum will stay for the time being, likely pick up the next 00 for Mum, might consult for the agency…”  He shrugged, eyes dark.  “What else _can_ I do?”

James had to admit with the enemies MI6 let alone 00s tended to collect and Harry’s oblique-but-unstated intent to keep his _surprise_ there wasn’t much else James would do in his not-friend’s position.

He’d miss him, though he’d never tell him that.

On the plus side, Hariel hadn’t been in a temper at least, more resigned to the situation, which should make his Q happy that the younger operative hadn’t taken objection to James’s face and attempt to rearrange it.

Again.

…

“I found something I don’t think anyone was ever supposed to find.”

Q looked up from doing… _something_ with something on his workbench in Q-Division at the MI6 Headquarters in London as his good friend Hariel strode into his private workshop with that rather alarming non-sequitur.

_Alarming_ because while his mate James could be counted on to pursue avenues of investigation both in their personal and private lives without regard for consequences, Hariel had always been _quite_ circumspect when it came to knowing when to stop digging lest he stumble upon secrets better kept no matter how much it bothered and chafed at his curiosity and sense of justice to do so.

Dogged pursuit of information in the commission of their missions was more the purview of James and Alec, less so the less impulsive operatives like Hariel.

That said level-headedness was hard-won under circumstances few others would’ve survived as young children, bothered Q more than he would ever admit to one of his closest friends outside of his mate and family.

Granted, given that Hariel had officially been placed on medical leave while they quietly recruited another noble-born to take his place was the eyes and ears on the blue-blooded and too wealthy for their own good set, a task which Hariel and his godfather before him had been quite ludicrously adept at, Q wasn’t necessarily _that_ surprised that Hariel was using his unprecedented amount of down-time before making the official jump from operative to “consultant analyst” to go snooping.

Replacing a 00 was difficult.

Finding one with the correct background to go places an outsider could not – such as the moneyed elite of the old world – was a task so horrendous in its complexity that Q doesn’t blame the agency one little bit for their tendency to, well, _breed_ the required operatives to be a bit crass.

Hariel’s family, like Q’s, tended to be drawn into the complex shadow world of intelligence and espionage with the rare useless wanker or justice-driven lawyer or law enforcement officer tossed in for flavor.

Blood, as Q’s father liked to say, will out as both Q, his older brother, at least one of his cousins, and Hariel’s own family tree served as examples thereof.

Though in Hariel’s case, his godfather and former 00 Lord Black was his own father’s second cousin and the father of Harry's handler/cousin Caelum rather than a direct connection as the case tended to be with the Paddingtons, with Harry’s late father being an agent _par excellence_ for MI5 and his lovely mother working with Q-Division herself before her murder.

Q’s family tended to treat MI6 rather like an unspoken-of family business passed between branches of younger-sons and cousinship with Q and his brother Edward being the inclined members of their generation to take up the charge.

Though at least, given that Hariel’s expression – from what Q could read of it, damn 00s – ran more towards the sheepish than the perturbed Q could safely guess that the soon-to-retire-from-ops agent hadn’t had a run in with Q’s arsehole of an elder brother as Edward had been forced four months before to step away from 00 work and into analytics for medical reasons as well.

Medical reasons, however, that were _vastly_ different than Hariel’s and he feared his brother was in for another round of arse-kicking if he – who was rather a stuffed-shirt at the best of times – thought to upbraid Hariel for being both unwed/unbonded and pregnant though the truth of Hariel’s medical leave had yet to spread through MI6.

M was doing her best in that regard, but even with scent suppressors if they didn’t get Harry out of the country _soon_ someone was going to notice.

“What did you do, Harry?”

The near-sigh that underlaid the words almost had Harry wincing in remorse as it was a distinctly-Q tone that only came out when dealing with 00s of particular aggravating tactics.

Read: usually James, often Alec, but only rarely Harry.

“Something I need to discuss with both the Quartermaster of MI6 as well as my good friend Reg.”

Yep, Q gave an internal sigh, Harry was definitely listing towards sheepish if he’d done something that had led to him needing to have a conversation with him as both his superior in the hierarchy of their agency _and_ as his friend, a line that everyone in an agency that at times found mixing personal and professional due to uncontrollable a/b/o dynamics was ever conscious of.

He set down his work and stepped away from his bench, lowering himself onto a wheeled stool and gesturing for the not-overly-showing pregnant omega to likewise get off his feet as if this was the sort of conversation that crossed _those_ sorts of lines it wasn’t likely to be short.

And no matter how angry and/or irritated Q was about to be with what Hariel had to tell him, he wasn’t going to keep a pregnant person _standing_ if it was unneeded, no matter how contrary to the facts of Harry’s health that precaution might be – or how overkill in protectiveness.

“ _What_ did you do, Agent Potter?”

Harry made a show of rather obviously tilting his head back to study the ceiling rather than make eye-contact with his unamused friend and Quartermaster, more glad than he could say that he was off ops as depending on the level of Q’s irritation at the end of this conversation he might’ve been tempted to finally follow through on his threats of swapping Harry’s preferred Colts for water pistols or forcing him to drive a _Hyundai_ instead of his beloved Audi.

“I – _may_ – have had a long practice of making copies of certain… _information gathering_ programs supplied for my field work in case I end up having need of one when away from home despite mission parameters.”

“You’ve…”  Q groaned, shaking his head.  “You’ve been _duplicating_ my computer viruses and spyware as a better-prepared-than-not measure?”

Okay, that explained why _Q_ was guaranteed to be irritated since some of those programs were _extremely_ capable of both finding out the highest levels of secured and classified information as well as potentially catastrophic to the systems they interact with in the course of gathering information.

However, that left a pertinent question: what did Hariel _find_ using them that would irritate his friend over and above the protocol breech that Q couldn’t reprimand him for since he was no longer a 00 – though he _was_ going to inspect Hariel’s computers and electronics himself to ensure that his sticky-fingered friend didn’t retain control of some of the more dangerous programs he’s sent him out into the field with in the past.

“At times,” Harry winced.  “And I _have_ needed them before on missions despite said-missions not showing that need during briefings so it wasn’t without cause…”

Oh yes, now it was Q’s turn to wince as it was a failure to have _extremely pertinent_ information regarding the computer systems that led to the last 00 they lost in the field, along with the information 009 had been attempting to locate and collect.

He liked to say that such lacks of preparedness rarely happened during his tenure as Q, but it was simply impossible to have every last scrap of needed information to plan every single operation that MI6 carried out before an agent was sent into the field, though the Q-Division _did_ attempt to ensure that all the operatives were as prepared as possible.

Some risks, of which inadequate information during the planning stages of ops, were part and parcel of what MI6 and other similar agencies around the world did.

“What is it you found using illicitly-acquired hacking aids, Harry?”  Reg’s tone was dry as his mate’s favored martinis.

“What did James tell you about my, ah, situation regarding the other pertinent party?”  Harry evaded an exact answer to that in favor of setting up a bit of background for his friend that would – hopefully – alleviate some of the rightful-bollicking he was in for and redirect a bit of Q’s formidable ire towards another source.

“That they were/are an operative involved in undercover work and unable to be contacted at this time.”  Reg repeated the party-line regarding the other half of the responsibility for Hariel’s _situation_.

“Right,” Harry sighed, sending a more than a bit beleaguered _look_ at his friend.  “His name is Anthony Durante DiNozzo, Junior.  And thanks to using your own tech, I unearthed the documentation that puts him squarely as a member of the _Paddington_ family.  _Your_ family, Reg, and who I can only assume based on what I found before I realized what I was looking at, is your half-American cousin.”  A ghost of a smile twitched at the edge of Harry’s mouth at Reg’s shock.  “Foiled by your own work, I’m afraid.  Uncle Clive always _did_ like to complain about his sister’s wastrel of a husband.  With what I found…well.  Now I’m not surprised regarding _why_.”

“Harry…”  Reg buried his face in his hands, absolutely _done_ with his friend for the moment, carrying his cousin’s spawn or not.  “You are _such a fucking wanker.”_

“Hey,” Harry smirked, eyes dancing when his friend took a turn into amused frustration over the coincidence instead of fury at his uncovering what was, really, an incredible job of burying Tony’s maternal connections.  Likely, based on what he could surmise before he stopped looking, around the time he decided on undercover work with the police rather than joining the CIA who’d been _very_ interested, Harry was sure even without it being confirmed, in having the only American-citizen of the Paddington family come into their grasping fold.  “It could be worse.  It could’ve been Edward.  Or even more awful: Crispian.”

This time Reg’s groan was ripe with disgust at the very _idea_.

Though, he had to admit, it was more for the amount of booze Harry would’ve had to have consumed to be attracted to either Reg’s brother or most useless cousin than having him as a defacto member of the family entire.

…

_Verdant Crescent Estate, outside of Honolulu, Hawaii; October 26, 2007_

“What are you going to call them, Harry?”

Q hadn’t been certain that either his friend’s removal to the tropics, insistence on secrecy, _or_ decision to have a home birth were wise, even with the impressive resources that could be brought to bear on Hariel’s behalf whether from the perspective of MI6 or the wealth of the Potter Trust – and _that_ was before the Paddingtons, of which he was one, or the Blacks of which Harry was a member were brought into things.

However, looking at his friend who was _glowing_ as he held his newborn omegan offspring complete with the Paddington nose and a shock of coppery curls, he couldn’t regret it either.

They were safe: both omega and child.

No worries – at the moment – regarding his friend’s former status as a 00 or the ongoing morass of problems that was his cousin’s personal and professional lives.

That Anthony was so stressed and overworked to the point of being so _stupid_ that M had directly forbidden any contact or information passing into the hands of the sire of Hariel’s child was a situation that none of either Q’s resources or even Hariel’s own had a good way of resolving at the moment.

A fact that was, perhaps, that only blemish on an otherwise beaming Hariel’s countenance.

That Anthony likewise wasn’t there during Hariel’s pregnancy, removal to Hawaii, or anything that has come afterward, including the birth of his child was a wound that would hit his cousin deep once Anthony learned of it.

That Anthony was also not in a position to take part in the traditional choosing of his child’s name was incidental in the face of everything else Q’s cousin was missing out on – and would continue to be kept unknowing of – was mere salt in that proverbial wound.

“Alexis.”  Harry said softly, then proceeded to make a concession that Q couldn’t honestly say he’d have made himself were he the one in Harry’s position and James left him – intentionally or not – to handle a pregnancy and child on his own.  “Alexis Paddington Potter.”

James made a bit of a chuffing noise that was pure alpha, Q almost rolling his eyes at 007’s lapse in his formidable control, then said:

“Welcome to the world, Alexis Paddington Potter.  It certainly is the brighter for it.”


	3. Chapter 3

** Harry’s Ohana **

**Chapter Two: Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot**

_July 29, 2006; The Westchester, Arlington, Virginia_

Tony wasn’t more than a foot inside the foyer of _The Westchester_ before the host was on him and leading him to one of the few private meeting rooms for the use of the club’s high-profile clientele.

Washington like any political city had its backdoor deals and its classified secrets traded for political favors allowing for places like _The Westchester_ to capitalize on their reputations for discretion and _absolute_ privacy in their private rooms to facilitate meetings that couldn’t be taken in environs varying from the halls of Capital Hill to the Pentagon and everywhere in between.

It wasn’t the first time Tony had either taken or arranged a meeting like this.

Not even the first time he’d done so at _The Westchester_.

Much as it would shock his junior agent McGee down to his naïve little toes, let alone anyone else in NCIS except maybe Ducky and Gibbs before the accident that cost the Gunny a ridiculous amount of his memories and led to his current retirement, he had the political capital and connections to arrange these sorts of things when it was necessary.

And with what had been going on in NCIS over the last year it was _very fucking necessary_.

He’d never _quite_ liked the new Director of NCIS or understood why Davenport appointed her over some of the other options Tony and Gibbs helped vet on request from Morrow.

Something about Director Shepard struck an odd note when she arrived in HQ after Tom Morrow’s departure to take on the job of Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security.

And no, despite what some might think _or_ flat-out say, it wasn’t because Jenny Shepard was either female _or_ a beta.

Even Tony’s amped-up “faithful sidekick” persona he’d taken on once Gibbs had brought in Kate to replace Viv Blackadder wasn’t a misogynist _or_ a dynamist for all that he played at being an unrepentant alpha male playboy and jock.

Tony couldn’t help the assumptions other people made and as Gibbs liked to – _used to_ – say if they weren’t willing to either look for themselves or ask the question then they didn’t need to know.

His boss knew who Tony was – or at least that was what Tony thought.

That Gibbs had gone along with bringing Ziva David on board after her half-brother and rogue Mossad asset had _shot and killed_ Kate, a unilateral decision made by the Director from what Tony understood, had been the starting point that led him to the _Westchester_ and his meeting-to-come.

Under no circumstances could he _fathom_ bringing on board a known foreign agent, one whose last assignment had gone rogue, and then put her on the _same fucking team_ as the agent that the rogue had murdered.

None.

Zero.

Zilch.

Unless there was something going on, a play or deal of some kind that Tony wasn’t privy to.

Gibbs’ behavior was kinda easy to figure out if you knew the man’s background, even before the memory loss and renewed grief made him an easy target for those who knew what to exploit.

Like Shepard and David who were dead-ringers for his main weaknesses: his dead wife and daughter especially when you add in Shepard being a beautiful redhead and David the right age to be one of Gibbs’ daughter’s surrogates _and_ having daddy issues out the wazoo.

Tony didn’t _like_ Gibbs not raising more of a stink, especially with David’s behavior ever since she’d joined the team, but he got it.

Shepard’s behavior and actions and decisions since taking the big chair at HQ on the other hand raised all _kinds_ of alarms, recently more than ever without Gibbs to keep her in check as little as he’d managed before, and with her as the director of his agency there wasn’t much recourse Tony _had_ to elevate his concerns.

Except, that is, the one he was about to utilize now that he had the framework of evidence to start backing up his all-hands-on-deck five-alarm warning that his investigator’s instincts and years of undercover work had been shouting at him for the last year and only gotten worse from a tingle of _this-isn’t-right_ to _oh-fuck-treason-espionage-murder-terrorism._

Not that he was _certain_ the latter was what was actually going on but he couldn’t rule it out anymore _either_.

And if he couldn’t rule it out, yet, you better believe he was going to do whatever he had to so he could find the evidence to clarify the situation one way or another.

Tony’s confident stride into the meeting room only stuttered a split-second at the unexpected addition to his meeting with Morrow as he clocked the face of his penultimate – barring the President himself – boss: the Secretary of the Navy and _old friend_ of Tom Morrow, retired Admiral Philip Davenport, US Navy.

“Secretary Davenport, Tom didn’t tell me you’d be joining us this evening.”  Tony nodded crisply as the older men greeted him, Tom warmly and the SECNAV cautiously.

Phil had heard good things about Agent Tony DiNozzo, particularly from his former JAG AJ Chegwidden and the most stalwart agent he used to have in NCIS: Gibbs.  DiNozzo had helped keep one of AJ’s best men from being framed.  Gibbs had personally recruited DiNozzo from the Baltimore PD – the only time in the gunny’s career at NCIS that he’d recruited _anyone_ – called him the best young agent he’d ever worked with, one of the best investigators, and then felt comfortable leaving his team in DiNozzo’s hands when he left to recover and drink beer in Mexico.

If _that_ agent, setting aside the intensive training classes DiNozzo did every year on undercover work at FLETC, _that_ agent called up Tom Morrow for a private meeting after being in charge of the MCRT for a little over a six weeks, Philip needed to know what was going on at NCIS that Shepard wasn’t telling him.

Or was actively hiding from him.

Preferably _before_ it became a black-eye on the agency’s reputation and/or a problem for the Navy entire.

“Any situation that has an investigator of your credentials and background calling the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security warrants my attention, Agent DiNozzo.”  Phil noted drily.  “We thought it most expedient to cut out the middleman and runaround.  Now.”  He leaned forward, waving Tony into the chair opposite the pair of top Washington brass.  “ _What_ is going on at NCIS that has my top investigator calling Homeland?”

Tony sucked in a calming breath as he handed over a pair of folders to the SECNAV filled with hardcopies of various documents and paper trails that he’d been putting together over the last year.

The idea of a black book might be one he’d picked up while UC with the mob in Philly, but its usefulness had proven itself over and over – and not _just_ because he originally stole the Malacuso consiglieri’s black book as evidence to help lock up Papa Malacuso and his top people.

Even his cover “Dante DeMarco” was sent upstate and shoved into solitary for being a violent offender, keeping one of his most dangerous and bloodthirsty legends active in case he ever needed to reactivate it.

His cousin Reg had taught him a thing or two about creating electronic paper trails that they didn’t teach in the police academy, FLETC, or even undercover ops.

Tony had a dozen legends back-burnered and active at any given time like any truly excellent UC operative.

DeMarco, however, was admittedly one of his worst headspaces and the one other than his “loyal-playboy-sidekick” routine he did at work that he’d had to live in the longest.

Two years was a long time to play the mob’s pet psychopath and enforcer, even for a UC like Tony.

Or, perhaps, _especially_ for a UC like Tony.

“May 2005.”  Tony started laying out the facts for them, deleting as much of his personal bias as he could from the recitation.  Not _all_ of it by any means.  He was a UC and investigator not a damn robot.  “Ari Haswari, a rogue Mossad asset who’d been inserted into Hamas, returns to the US to continue his vendetta against Agent Gibbs.  Agent Todd is assassinated.  We later learned that his half-sister, Mossad Officer Ziva David, was Haswari’s handler.  Director Shepard authorizes the MCRT to hunt Haswari, eventually ending with his death in September of 2005.  Less than a month later, David is assigned to the MCRT as a liaison officer from Mossad by Director Shepard.”

“Wait.”  Morrow stopped him, expression on his face nothing short of incredulous.  “Are you telling me that we have a Mossad liaison, who is the daughter of the head of Mossad, imbedded in NCIS and she’s been there for almost _two years_?”

“Yes, sir.”  Tony nodded, gaze flicking between Morrow and Davenport – the former still stuck on incredulous and the latter looking like he’d sucked a lemon.

“Director Shepard assured me Officer David was being utilized in our counterterrorism division.”  Davenport’s tone was _cold_.  “An operative such as that has no investigative or law enforcement experience to justify her presence on the MCRT.”

“And yet…”  Tony sighed, waving a hand at the folders.  “There she is and has been despite my initial complaints being ignored.  I believe she killed Haswari based on the bullet trajectories _and_ that she likely profiled the MCRT for Haswari to fuck with and smooth over her insertion into NCIS but those are suppositions.  Short of an actual confession I don’t think I’ll ever manage to find any evidence.”

Morrow was cursing under his breath and Davenport simply getting less and less expression and more and more like a statue as he continued, moving from supposition to evidence trails.

“I honestly don’t think having her have the access she does or even working cases without having her sent through FLETC is legal but again, any complaints I’ve made or times I’ve raised concerns have been ignored or shut down.  Rather than continue making noise I acted like Shepard finally cowed me and have been researching and investigating quietly.  Since Gibbs’ _retirement_ ,” and he stressed the word with all the sarcasm he was capable of – which was considerable – since none of them really believed the Gunny would make it too long drinking Corona and watching waves before boredom and/or inactivity drove him right back to his old job.  “I’ve made increased headway – including figuring out what purpose many of the Director’s _interesting_ decisions all spiral back towards: her father’s treason charge and suicide.  Oh,” his tone turned snide.  “ _And_ that she gave David almost the same level of systems access that myself and Gibbs have, a lot more than is reasonable for a liaison officer and higher clearance than any junior agent in the agency possesses.”

Tony only has the second-highest-possible access to NCIS systems because he was the agent pulled most often for UC work within the agency and needed complete information access to survive being inserted into situations that included everything from drug rings to terrorist cells while Gibbs used to run operations of varying levels of classified out of MTAC thanks to his training and skills from the Marines.

“I don’t even want to ask.”  Davenport noted with dread.  “But what has she been accessing?”

“She’s been accessing and downloading intelligence and reports on our operations mainly in Europe and the Middle East.”  Tony sighed, winding down and feeling more than a little defeated.  With it all out loud…yeah, it’s bad.  It’s so bad he didn’t even know where to start with it.  “Information that is no way even in the slightest way attached to any case we’ve worked.  In the meantime Director Shepard has been taking a page out of Psych 101 and is working on isolating me using David, Agent McGee, and Technician Scuito as her weapons of choice.  There’s an op to do with her father coming my way or I’m a probie.”

“Jesus.”  Morrow scrubbed one hand over his mouth as he stared at the documentation DiNozzo had provided that backed everything up – even if some of it was only tangentially.  “What a clusterfuck.”

Davenport needed a stiffer drink.  _Nothing_ in Shepard’s background had even _hinted_ at something like this coming.  She’d been a capable agent and a more-than-able Assistant Director over NCIS operations in Europe.  Then she pulled _this_?

What the _fuck_ was she thinking?

“How much can we prove?”  Davenport asked the key question.

“Some of it can be danced around and all of it is embarrassing depending on how its handled.”  Tony said succinctly.  “Besides which we don’t know _what_ David is doing with the information to prove espionage.  She could argue that the Director _gave_ her the access and she was never barred from looking at it along with a lot of other bullshit.  There’s also no proof – yet – that she’s done more than download it, let alone removed it from HQ even if that’s the most logical assumption.”

Morrow’s eyes narrowed on the worn-out and weary team lead, easily making the jump to the best way to dig up the evidence needed for charges – or as David wasn’t a US Citizen to pull her in under the Patriot Act.

Though while tempting, simply chucking Eli David’s daughter into Gitmo wasn’t really on the table except as a last-resort option especially with Shepard still in a position to do damage.

“Could you do it, DiNozzo?”  He asked quietly.  “Run an inside op on your own people?”

“What are you thinking, Tom?”  Davenport frowned, not quite following.

“That if we have one problem like this in the heart of NCIS there might be more – and not _just_ in the smallest of the alphabet agencies.  Eli David is a sneaky, conniving sonuvabitch I wouldn’t trust with a paperclip let alone allow his daughter into the heart of an agency that’s as heavily involved in counterterrorism as NCIS.”  Morrow continued to study DiNozzo as the agent subtlety straightened, green eyes sharpening on the pair of brass.  “I’m thinking about a snake hunt.  One that David – either of them – and Shepard won’t see coming because of how heavily redacted DiNozzo’s background is, even his hardcopy of his personnel file only available in the Director’s office.”

Morrow should know – he was one of the ones to redact DiNozzo’s NCIS file to hell and gone.

He didn’t know _who’d_ managed his family background and scrubbing his police operations on the electronic level, but he’d kill, steal, and maim to have them on his payroll at Homeland though DiNozzo had never been willing to cough up the name of his favorite hacker/tech buddy who’d done it for him.

DiNozzo was capable at following an information trail either hardcopy or electronic, the documentation in front of Morrow was proof enough of that, but what’d been done with his e-footprint outside of “frat-boy, jock, cop” DiNozzo was a masterwork and even then he wasn’t active on any form of social media and ducked the press or having his picture taken like a paranoid pop-star.

“Against the Director and Mossad?”  Tony’s brows arched up, whistling softly.  “That’s deep cover, Tom.  Might take years to hunt out all of David’s contacts and find proof to have her up on espionage charges.  She’s arrogant – she’s not stupid.”

Which, really, goes for both David and Shepard.

“Who would you trust to manage it with interagency cooperation between NCIS and Homeland?”  Davenport kicked into solution mode.  DiNozzo would need a handler to keep him sane and plugged into his real life outside of the op.  The orders and authorization would have to be hard-copy only, kept in his office and whoever DiNozzo trusted to handle things on NCIS’s end, but when going up against heavy-hitters like Eli David…there wasn’t any such thing as _too_ many precautions.  “Vance?”

As the Assistant Director of Special Operations, Leon Vance would be an obvious choice.

Only there was a couple problems with that which Tony didn’t hesitate to point out.

“One: he’s buddies with Eli David.”  Tony rattled off, knowing more than most about the backgrounds of those who’d recently come under scrutiny for the NCIS Directorship – including Vance.  “Two: he doesn’t respect cops or former cops.”  Tony rolled his head on his shoulders.  “When it comes to running an UC op inside NCIS…Hetty Lange, the Operations Manager at the Office of Special Projects would be my choice for handler.”

Especially since Gibbs went and got his brain scrambled.

“Really?”  Davenport blinked, knowing Hetty quite well.  The woman was a legend in intelligence communities and her coming onboard with NCIS had been one hell of a coup.  “Even though she’s friends with Vance and Eli David herself?”

“She’s also my godmother.”  Tony told him dryly, smirking just a _little_.  “When it comes down to having my back, there’s no one stateside I trust _more_ to keep me sane in this sort of long term, deep cover operation Tom is aiming for than Hetty.”

“You tag ‘em, we’ll bag ‘em.”  Morrow promised.  “Even if it means a one-way ticket to Gitmo, we can’t afford a breech of the sort this,” he pointed at the folders.  “Implies at the level we risk with Shepard and David.”

“I’d rather just remove them completely.”  Davenport sighed.  “But I also agree that we need to know how deep and wide this particular hole in our security goes.”

…

Little did he know, but in less than a year the stress of living a triple-life would grate to the point of sending him searching for a night of decompression in the arms of a beautiful omega.

A night that changed everything for all that it would be years before Tony knew it.

…

_Two Months Later_ :

“So, Gibbs is back, his memory is still swiss-cheese, and Shepard half-heartedly offered me a team in Spain.”

“We’ll restore your paygrade and make sure you get every cent of backpay owed despite the demotion you’re taking to keep your cover, Tony.”  Hetty assured him.  “Now, you said something about René Benoit…”

“That’s Shepard’s ultimate target with her little unsanctioned op.”  Tony sighed, rubbing the tips of his fingers over his forehead, already feeling the stress of the triple-life he was living but not having much choice in the matter.  He knew what he was getting into.  He just hadn’t factored – because he hadn’t spent much time with Gibbs before the gunny fucked off to Mexico for R&R – in just how _bad_ things would be playing his role as SFA DiNozzo without having a reliable Gibbs on his six.  “I’m set up to play honeypot with Benoit’s daughter, a doctor who from what I can tell hasn’t had any contact with her dad in years.  She’s clean.”

“She’s a weakness.”  Hetty sighed.  She really _did_ hate when good operatives went and caught feelings and/or vendettas to do with marks and assets.  Shepard had such _promise_ as a Director from the perspective of operations if there were savvier options for administrator or politician to take the big chair.  “And that, I gather, is rather the point wouldn’t you say?”

“Agreed.”  Tony winced.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept with a mark or had an affair of one kind or another while UC but that didn’t mean he _liked_ it. 

…

“I heard back from my CIA contacts on Benoit.”  Hetty informed him over one of their weekly high-security check-ins.

Half the time they were more for Tony’s sanity than passing information to Hetty for the OSP Manager to then run with on her end or pass over to Homeland for Tom to manage but every now and again his godmother came through with a piece of dirt she’d dug up through her own intelligence contacts that made his life easier – or conversely _much much_ harder.

“Hit me.”  Tony sighed, slumping into the comfy, overstuffed couch at his favorite DC area bolthole.

It wasn’t registered to any of his known legends, not even the ones used for strictly off-books ops like the honeypot op he was running for Shepard on Benoit’s daughter.

Dr. Marcus Rossi, a genial academic with an interest in psychology, had a small but comfortable townhouse in Penn Quarter to go with his modest trust fund, not a concrete box of a studio in Michigan Park.

“He’s a CI.”  Hetty told him with a put-upon sigh.  Shepard was stirring up a hornet’s nest the likes of which the woman wasn’t even _close_ to being prepared to deal with.  “With a CIA operative with him at almost all times.”

“Oh _great_.”  Tony let his head fall back against the couch with a _thunk_.  “She’s going to kill me.  This vendetta of hers is _actually_ going to get me killed.”

Unless…

“Hetty.”  Tony narrowed his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling.  “Do you think G likes me enough to talk to Benoit’s handler?  At least to keep him from blowing up my car or something…?”

As G Callen had the best contacts inside the CIA outside of Hetty – and was most likely to have contacts with current operatives given that he used to work for the agency – it was an option.

Whether it would pan out…well Tony supposed he’d find out if he woke up one day to a car bomb or not.

It would _really_ suck to die because the Farm thought he was trying to screw up their arrangement with Benoit when he was after Shepard the whole time.

…

_Two Months Later:_

“Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”  Tony’s tone of faux-cheerfulness had Hetty wincing.  “Good news: I’m still alive.  Bad news: David and Shepard aren’t the only information leaks.  There’s mole inside of NCIS.”

…

_February 2007:_

_“Thanks, sweetheart.”_

_…_

_March 2007:_

“Michelle Lee.”  Tony’s voice was cold and furious at the same time.

And with reason.

Agent Lee before moving to Legal was _his_ probationary agent on the MCRT given to him by Director Shepard.

“I have her dead-to-rights on the information dealing.”  He reported icily.  “Sending the file now.  But no luck on my end discovering her broker or middleman.”

“Excellent work, Agent DiNozzo.”  Hetty didn’t stint with her praise, though she was saddened that the good mood her godson had been in for the last few weeks had evaporated with the most recent betrayal of trust.

If Philip managed to keep Tony on with NCIS when he was finished with this operation it would be a miracle at this rate.

But then Tony had been the one advocating from the first to discover just how far and deep the corruption in NCIS went.

“We’ll take it from here.”

…

“Michael Rivkin.”  Hetty gave him the name of Lee’s contact within a week of having the former agent in Homeland’s custody.  “A Kidon assassin working with Mossad.  Be _careful_ with this one, Tony.”

“Is he dirty or just working other avenues besides Daddy’s Little Princess?”

“From what I’ve found…possibly both.”

“Oh, joy.”  He winced.  “Slow and steady wins the race.  I’ll be careful, Hetty.”

“See that you are.”  Her tone was a near-scold.  “Miriam would come back and haunt me if I allowed one of her grandsons to die to take down the likes of Shepard and David.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Hetty.  Promise.”

“Good.”

…

_April 2008:_

“Once again, I have good news and bad news.”

Since the last time he said that it eventually led to the death of René Benoit and his being pulled by Shepard from his unsanctioned op on Benoit’s daughter – though thankfully Kort hadn’t felt the need to car bomb him thanks to Callen’s intervention – Hetty braced herself and saw Tom and Philip doing the same as they were having their monthly update when Tony came online.

“Go ahead, Agent DiNozzo.”  The SECNAV prompted him.

Morrow hadn’t been exaggerating.  Thus far the UC operation had run more than a year and had netted more than a handful of minor plants or informants in NCIS and their sister agencies as Tony dug deeper and deeper – including a mole that’d been loosely affiliated with Mossad but perfectly willing to sell information to the highest bidder including Hamas and other terrorist organizations.  Michelle Lee wouldn’t be seeing the light of day again if Homeland had their way.

That she’d been caught by DiNozzo before anything _too_ damaging had been smuggled out of NCIS – the FBI data breech giving them more than enough cause to make it as difficult as possible to get _into_ their systems if they didn’t have access already such as what an agent was allowed – hardly mattered when it came to espionage and treason.

“I have a way to get Shepard out of NCIS.”  Tony reported, smiling viciously.  “Downside: it’s a medical reason so you’ll have grounds to keep her in medical custody due to her condition and the secrets in her head but an out-and-out arrest doesn’t seem to be in the cards.”

Given the situation Shepard had put NCIS and the country in general into with her vendetta against Benoit, Morrow and Davenport’s disappoint was more than allowed.

“We’ll need to have all the pieces in place to take over and review all of her decisions since taking the Directorship.”  Hetty commented, pursing her lips.  “Tony, in your opinion will David rabbit or hunker down?”

“She’s as arrogant as ever.”  Tony noted, twirling a pen through his fingers as he thought.  “And most would assume Vance up next for the big chair since he’s one of the better admins NCIS has in the upper echelons.  She’ll keep her head down and observe before making any moves.  Even if a heavy-hitter and stickler is brought in she’ll maintain her cover since with Shepard’s decisions coming under scrutiny Daddy Dearest won’t want to risk Mossad coming under fire with the whole Benoit clusterfuck.”

“Language, Tony.”  Hetty scolded him lightly – though she absolutely agreed with that assessment.

“Since Vance is still out of the question as long as Eli David is a problem.”  Morrow broached the vital issue that went hand-in-hand with replacing Shepard.  “Who would you trust knowing about the op in the big chair, Tony?”

Granted, if he wanted someone completely out of bounds Davenport would override him, but Tony had a handle on the political pulse of Washington and knew more about NCIS’s leadership than anyone else given that he’d had to do a deep dive into them _first_ when he’d conceived his op with Morrow and SECNAV before he went the opposite direction from the ground-up with NCIS’s personnel.

A devious thought occurred, one that would keep even the most troublesome agents from getting squirrely with the reorg that came with every new director.

“Think you can talk AJ away from his firm for a year or two, Secretary Davenport?”  He suggested mildly despite the wicked grin on his face.

One that was joined by Morrow and Hetty as the SECNAV blinked and then guffawed.

“Doesn’t the Admiral owe you a favor or two, Tony?”  Hetty asked, chuckling herself.

And she was entirely correct.

Retired Rear Admiral AJ Chegwidden was a hardass, by-the-book, ball buster of a lawyer who used to be the Judge Advocate General before his retirement from the Navy, had had a few instances where Tony and Gibbs before taking on a permanent team had helped a few of the Admiral’s men out of sticky situations.

Including one Harmon Rabb who’d been framed for murder.

If it was to help keep Tony alive and kicking while on a spy hunt, AJ likely _would_ come out of private practice to head NCIS…so long as there was a time limit to his Directorship.

“Gibbs is going to have kittens.”  Tony predicted.  And he wasn’t wrong.  The former Marine was known for his cowboy ways of solving cases and bringing in perps which were effective but AJ was a former SEAL and judge who knew the law forwards and backwards.  He wasn’t going to let behavior that could endanger a conviction go on in NCIS as long as he held the big chair.

“Serves him right.”  Hetty muttered under her breath.  “His antics have been borderline abominable ever since he came back to the agency, head injury or no head injury.”

“I’m a big boy, Hetty.”  Tony rolled his eyes.  “I can handle Gibbs, have done for years.”

“Well,” she sniffed.  “That doesn’t mean you should _have to_.”

…

Tony had picked up a habit of coming in early during the Benoit op since he didn’t have the free time – then – after-hours to handle the additional workload that came with being the team’s Senior Field Agent _and_ his digging into the Mossad issue without an audience.

On this particular day in April of 2008, he was glad of it since it gave him time to clear his paperwork and get ready for a ringside seat of the show that was Director Shepard’s removal and the onboarding of one Admiral AJ Chegwidden as the new (interim though that was hush-hush) Director of NCIS.

Never let it be said that Tony’s pick for a director to handle the situation that was his UC op and the inevitable clean-up afterward didn’t have the political chops and know-how to do the job.

As a former Navy Admiral _and_ JAG, AJ was all that and more to the point that Tony was actually surprised that he hadn’t taken the job of SECNAV instead of Davenport and had chosen to retire instead.

Tony was standing and leaning on his desk, enjoying his second morning mocha, when the elevator doors opened and revealed the spine-tingling sight of the SECNAV, Deputy Secretary Morrow, a trio of Navy Yard Marine MPs, and last but certainly not least former Admiral Chegwidden.

“What,” Gibbs came and leaned along with him, taking a long sip of his own black coffee.  “Is that?”

As none of the men even stopped long enough to nod at either DiNozzo or Gibbs on their precise march to the Director’s office, DiNozzo just _looked_ at his boss all baffled innocence.

“I dunno, boss.”  Tony blinked as McGee and David showed up just in time to catch the last bit of the show that was the parade up to the Director’s office.  “But I wouldn’t put money on it being good.”

_For Jenny at least._

Gibbs just shot him a _ya think?,_ glare and barked an order at the junior agent and the liaison officer that had Tony hiding a grin behind his coffee cup until a similar order was shouted his way by the gunny.

“On your six boss!”

…

It was a week since Shepard had been ushered ignominiously out of NCIS and AJ Chegwidden installed as the new Director and the vibe in HQ was _tense_ to say the least as everyone waited for the hammer to come down.

SECNAV had sent out an agency-wide memo regarding Shepard’s “resignation” due to health reasons and Chegwidden’s appointment.

More than half of them had been on tenterhooks ever since as the former JAG’s reputation as a hard ass definitely preceded him, especially as many of the current active agents and techs had all been in his court prior to his retirement and had to give testimony before the judge advocate general as many NCIS cases were tried through JAG and not civilian court.

All of which explained why Gibbs was less than surprised to be called into the new Director’s office for a meeting on the sixth official “workday” following Jen’s removal and the Admiral’s installation as Director of NCIS.

What _did_ surprise him was that he wasn’t called in alone but that his second and senior field agent Tony DiNozzo was called in with him as of the two of them, DiNozzo had always stuck closer to the rulebook.

“Director.”  Gibbs nodded to the former SEAL and JAG.  Chegwidden was a by-the-book hardass but when it came to taking care of his people there were few better men in Washington to have on their side.  He wasn’t sure what the SECNAV had used to get AJ to come out of retirement from the Navy to get him into the Director’s chair but he was relatively certain it involved calling in more than a few favors to manage since last he’d heard the tough bastard was currently scaring the crap out of prosecutors from Bangor to Miami.

“Gunny.”  AJ returned the – downright-genial – greeting from the team lead.  “Agent DiNozzo.  We have a problem.”

So saying as the pair obeyed his firm pointing towards the chairs opposite him, their new boss tossing down a trio of files in front of them.

“Those,” AJ went on quickly to explain the problem.  One that DiNozzo at least was more than familiar with.  “Are a collection of complaints and reprimands regarding the behavior of Agent McGee, Technician Scuito, and Mossad Liaison Officer David which were ignored by the former Director.  The bulk of which occurred during your _siesta_ , Gunny, and not a few of them issued by Agent DiNozzo.”

“Jesus, Tony.”  Gibbs scowled flipping through the piles of paperwork – and they _were_ piles.  “I know you said they had attitude issues while I was gone but…”

“Yeah, that doesn’t even begin to cover it.”  Tony jerked a shoulder, cutting a quick glance towards AJ.  They’d covered how they wanted to deal with this issue – one that _would_ have come up during AJ’s review of Shepard’s term as director – since dimes to dollars at least one of the other team leads who’d complained about the terrible trio during Gibbs’ “retirement” would bring it to AJ’s attention now that Shepard wasn’t there blocking any attempt at reprimanding them to keep Tony isolated from his team.  “Abby straightened up after you got back for the most part though there’s still some concern about lab regulations, but Tim and Ziva…”  He trailed off, shaking his head.  “She shouldn’t even be handling evidence without going through FLETC, boss.  I’ve managed the chain of custody as much as possible but I can’t be everywhere and the former Director wasn’t interested in hearing about it.”

“Davenport brought me in to get this house back in order, Gunny.”  AJ said gruffly, folding his hands before him on his desk.  “And I plan to do exactly that.  Now.”  He waited a moment for Gibbs’ attention to lock back on him and not in the breathtaking examples of discipline and leadership breakdown that the files before him represented.  “If I were to retroactively deal with those piles of infractions I’d be looking for two new members of the MCRT and a forensic scientist – which frankly given the rest of Shepard’s mess I don’t have time for.”

“What’s the plan, Director?”  Gibbs locked down what he was feeling – mainly a massive sense of frustration and betrayal over how his team had acted towards Tony while he’d been gone.  And that it’d kept on going when he didn’t address it as soon as he was back.  Tony didn’t deserve that either as an agent _or_ a human being but especially not as his second in command.

“McGee is going back through FLETC and David _will_ finally attend in a different class as your erstwhile young agent.  An audit has been ordered by the SECNAV of the entire agency.  That will as a matter of course include an independence audit of our crime labs.  Which has been scheduled to begin next week.”  His tone was brisk and uncompromising.  “Ms. Scuito will come into compliance with _every_ action item the audit reports within thirty days or her employment will be terminated.  Agent McGee will undergo a probationary period after returning from FLETC of a year, during which he will _not_ be eligible for promotion or advancement, a single warning will be all that is allowed for any infraction during that time.  Officer David will undergo the same with the provision that should there be an issue she will be off the MCRT and working a desk in counterterrorism.  A second offense from either of them will result in termination.”

Gibbs let out a soundless whistle and even Tony’s brows were sky-high.

Tony had expected a crackdown from Chegwidden – on the part of Ziva it was even part of the plan to slowly squeeze her avenues of information gathering until her handler Rivkin popped his head up since he’d been annoyingly silent ever since they’d snagged Lee – but this was over and above what he’d thought was coming.

“In the meantime, Gunny.”  AJ continued, enjoying himself more than is probably appropriate given the severe circumstances he’d been read into but private sector had gotten a little stale recently.  “I see no reason for the agency to be breaking one of your own rules and “wasting good.”  Agent DiNozzo will be promoted to the Second in Charge of HQ position that has been vacant for _years_ for no reason at all that I can see, underneath Special Agent in Charge Seeley Booth.”

“Booth?”  Tony blinked, just as blindsided as Gibbs by _that_ one.

Morrow and Davenport really _had_ been working things from their end if they snagged one of the hotshots from the FBI to come and take over as SAC of the NCIS HQ.

“Let’s just say we made Agent Booth an offer he could appreciate being former military himself.”  AJ was feeling rightfully smug at the coup.  Fornell was _spitting_ mad over the Special Agent that’d been quietly earmarked to take over a Major Case unit at Quantico being offered an even _better_ job at NCIS.

After all, the only spots higher up the ladder in the agency would be Assistant Director, Deputy Director, or Director of the agency itself than SAC of Headquarters.

“Regular hours would appeal to a single dad.”  Tony allowed, having played a pick-up game of football or two with the agent in question.  Interagency cooperation at its finest to take down the CIA or NSA amateur teams.  “I’d heard he’d gotten custody of Parker.”

“Gibbs,” AJ brought the gunny – who’d gotten more than a little whiplash over how quickly things were changing around him.  “Both DiNozzo and Booth are investigators who will have the flexibility to assist in cases with MCRT as needed.  I’d suggest you make use of them.”

“Who’s been tapped for my SFA?”  Gibbs gave in with ill-grace to the inevitable.  Short of retiring for good this time he knew AJ wouldn’t stand for any bullshit from him over Tony taking a promotion.  One that he was right and the younger agent definitely deserved.

“Cassie Yates.”  AJ told him, Tony instantly nodding along.

He’d suggested her after all.

Cassie was good people and she wouldn’t back down from Agent Leroy Jethro “second B for Bastard” Gibbs, let alone let McGee or David play games with her.

And above all it slowly started edging him out of David’s crosshairs for when Rivkin eventually popped his head up and they can _finally_ finish out this op that seemed to never-end.

Tony was tired and wanted nothing more than to come clean with Gibbs who was his friend as much as he was his boss.

Especially as more and more of Jethro’s memories slotted back into place.

Tony had no intention of surviving more than a year living a triple life and having to play double-agent against his own damn agency only for a pissed-off Eli David to have him assassinated when his darling daughter got tossed down a Homeland blacksite for the rest of her natural life.

“How long until Tony starts as 2IC?”

“Yates starts tomorrow as your SFA.”  AJ told him firmly.  “Booth arrives next week to start as SAC.  Agent DiNozzo has until then to bring Yates up to speed and will then transition to being Booth’s 2IC.”

“Yessir.”

...

_May 2009_

“Why do I have a feeling you know what’s going on and why David is in cuffs?”  Seeley Booth leaned back against the railing of the catwalk next to his second-in-command as they both watched the drama being carried out in the MCRT bullpen below them of Ziva David being taken down and cuffed by a handful of Marine MPs under the direction of Director Chegwidden.

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Tony watched it all with a blank expression, none of his inner glee showing.

_Finally,_ finally he was done.

Rivkin had popped his head up in LA and was already in a blacksite courtesy of Hetty and her OSP.

Ziva was the last piece.

Now all he had to do was sit back and let all the more than _two years’_ worth of evidence and investigative work crash down on her head.

It wouldn’t be a murder conviction and a life sentence.

She was too damn dangerous for that.

But life in a Homeland black hole?

_That_ he could be satisfied settling for if it meant closing the book on the chapter of his life that was having to spy on and investigate his own damn people for the sake of protecting the public good.

“Might be because I’ve been waiting for this day for almost four years.”

Seeley frowned, looking over at his 2IC in confusion.

David hadn’t been with the agency that long.

Tony explained.

“Ever since her half-brother murdered my last partner, likely on orders from Daddy Dearest to create a hole in the MCRT for Bouncing Baby Girl to fill.”

Seeley whistled.

Damn.

Now _that_ was one hell of a wait for justice to be served.

Can’t say he would’ve blamed DiNozzo if he’d reveled, even just a bit, in watching David get cuffed, but no.

When he looked over at his 2IC he didn’t see even a lick of glee.

All there was, was cold satisfaction.


	4. Chapter 4

** Harry’s Ohana **

**Chapter Three: Aloha**

“Need any help packing, Tony?”  Gibbs offered, coming to stand in the office doorway that led to the connected offices shared by the headquarters’ Special Agent in Charge and their second, which for the last year and some change had been Tony.

It overlooked the bullpen below, on the same walkway that led to MTAC and the directorship offices, and for most of Tony’s time at NCIS had been sitting empty as Tom Morrow for one reason or another never replaced the last SAC and 2IC for headquarters after the last set and left and/or promoted beyond the positions.

“Nah, I got it.”  Tony snatched up his Mighty Mouse stapler and tossed it in one of the banker’s boxes that he’d been given by Logistics for his move.  “Only my personal things are coming with me anyway.”

“LA, huh?”  Gibbs held in a chuckle at Tony’s wince.

Fancy new title or not, he’d always still see that bold-as-brass detective from Baltimore who’d out-and-out tackled him in the snow.

They’d been partners, friends, co-workers, lead-and-second for eight years not counting Gibbs’ little hiatus to Mexico and time out for injuries or illnesses.

Gibbs was so damn _proud_ of Tony.

But he’d miss coming in and seeing him every day since even with Tony’s promotion to HQ’s 2IC last year DiNozzo had only been one short flight of stairs or a holler away.

Kinda hard to have cowboy steaks every Thursday when your closest friend was on the other side of the country.

“For six months under Hetty, learning the ins and outs of specifically managing special ops from an admin perspective.”  Tony sighed.  He _was not_ an LA kinda guy.  “Then six months in San Diego working with and shadowing Vance as he prepares for the transition to Director.”

He still wasn’t certain if he agreed with that decision, even if it made solid sense from a political perspective.  Vance was a good administrator, that was true.  And they needed someone with political and social savvy after the clusterfuck that was Eli David trying to insert agents in the federal agencies of one of his country’s closest allies.

But Tony wasn’t sold on even Vance smoothing things over with Mossad as long as David kept his claws on that agency since his daughter had disappeared into a Homeland Security blacksite.

That was the problem with spies though: they played their games and always were so damn _shocked_ when someone dared to play them back.

Let alone play them _better_.

“Special Ops gets to pick their own HQ though.”  Tony’s grin was a healthy mixture of playful and boyish.  “I’m thinking Hawai’i, or maybe Spain.”

“Assistant Director of Special Operations.”  Gibbs gave his protégé a crooked grin.  “I’m so damn proud of you, Tony.  What you did…”  He trailed off, not really wanting to go there.

It’d hurt when he’d first been read in after all the interrogations had been done and the charges came down like the wrath of god on some agents or techs or contractors who’d gotten caught for lesser issues during the course of Tony’s investigation.

Like sanctions for McGee and Abby over hacking other agencies for example.

That Tony had been investigating basically the entire agency from the bottom up _and_ the top down had been a shock.

That he’d done it almost alone with only support from Homeland and Hetty Lange was insult to injury as Gibbs hadn’t been trusted somewhere along the decision-making tree and kept out of the investigation.

He understood it once the initial knee-jerk reaction of hurt had faded a bit.

His history with Jenny combined with helping Ziva come into the agency on top of his brain injury and memory issues hadn’t made him the most _reliable_ person to read-in on the op.

Looking at it objectively, Gibbs wouldn’t have brought himself into the investigation either.

That he wasn’t there when Tony was going through it all, having to live a double and triple life, having to hide and keep secrets from everyone around him would be a regret he’d carry with him all his life.

“It had to be done, Gibbs.”  Tony told him – and to him it really was just that simple.

Gibbs ducked his head, hiding a smile.

“Cowboy steaks before you leave, kiddo.  And Tony?”

“Yeah, Jethro?”

“Give ‘em hell.”

“Will do, boss.”

…

_Newark, New Jersey_

“You can’t do this Rachel.”  Detective Sergeant Daniel “Danny” Williams protested, rising to his feet in the restaurant his ex-wife had picked for their “meeting” rather than use one of their homes.  “Grace is _my_ daughter too.  You can’t just take her to _fucking Hawaii!”_

Rachel Edwards, formerly Williams, shifted back unconsciously as Danny visibly sucked back his temper and sat back down.

He wasn’t the tallest or most physically imposing alpha male she’d ever met, but he was built out of solid brick and muscle with wide shoulders and a stacked chest and torso of muscle much taller men would envy.  She’d never faulted the perps who backed down at a single glare from his icy blue eyes rather than tangle with him.  She’d also, once upon a time, had never thought she’d see him puff up instinctively or use that glare against _her_.

As a beta, she’d never be able to mate him despite pursuing him initially, and perhaps that was where their marriage started to breakdown in the beginning combined with the realities of just what it _meant_ being married to a cop.

Seeing that hint of instinctive pull-back had Danny reining his temper in before he lost control of it.

He’d never been the sort of guy _or_ alpha that got off on using his nature-given gifts to intimidate others for all that he took advantage of it on the job and he sure as shit didn’t want his ex-wife and mother of his beautiful baby girl to be afraid of him.

That didn’t make the situation any less fucked up however or her decision hurt any less.

“We have joint custody, Rachel.”  He bit out, jaw working.  “And mandatory visitation on the weekends.  You _legally_ can’t just take Grace to Hawaii unless you want to be charged with kidnapping.”

“Stan’s business interests are headquartered on Oahu.”  She shot back, not any more interested in giving up rights to their child than her ex-husband.  “I’m sure a judge would be willing to rule in favor of a married couple over a single dad who’s a cop, Danny if you want to push it that far.”  She set papers adjusting their custody agreement on the table between them.  “Things would be a lot easier, for everyone involved including Grace, if you just sign off on the move.”

“Bullshit.”  Danny snorted, picking up the papers only to toss them down onto her plate as he stood and walked away.  “I’m not giving up _any_ of my rights to my daughter.  _Not one_.”

“Then I guess we’ll see you in court.”

“I guess you will.”

_…_

_“Commander McGarrett, we have a new assignment for you…”_

…

_Family Circuit Court, Newark, New Jersey; February 20, 2009:_

“Docket Number FCC-985402, the Honorable Judge Francis Sinclair presiding in the case of Edwards v. Williams and the countersuit of Williams v. Edwards.  All Rise.”

“Counsels, present your cases.”  The judge prompted as she took her seat behind the bench.

Danny refused to shift restlessly or anxiously as his shark of a lawyer got up to do just that in response to Step-Stan’s lawyer-buddy’s spiel that for some godforsaken reason Rachel had gone along with to have Danny’s rights peeled back to only visitation.

He didn’t know _what_ had happened to the awesome, spunky sassy woman he’d met and married years ago, but this wife of Step-Stan wasn’t much of anything compared to the woman Danny had married.

Honestly, when Danny had stormed out of the restaurant after Rachel tried to get him to agree to signing away his legal rights to Grace beyond visitation, he hadn’t known _what_ he was going to do other than meet with Rachel and her new husband in court and try and make his case to the judge – and hope he got one that was sympathetic to the rights of fathers and alphas to their children instead of someone who was totally old school and believed that the rights of the mother trumped everything else.

He’d been about to call up his divorce lawyer to handle the case when his Ma had shut that idea down.

Ma Williams had always been of the opinion that Danny should’ve gone with a different lawyer and that a better attorney would’ve gotten him a fairer divorce settlement or talked him out of letting Rachel live in the house _he’d_ paid for and was still paying the mortgage on.

Danny hadn’t gotten _totally_ shafted in the divorce but he hadn’t fought some of it as hard as he could’ve either to try and keep things civil with the mother of his child.

 _Civil_ went out the window with this move to Hawaii and trying to screw him out of his rights.

He loved Grace so much it terrified him down to his bones.

But he wasn’t going to let Rachel or Step-Stan use his daughter to manipulate him or push him around.

Danny might not be a typical alpha in all ways but he wasn’t a damn push over either.

Ma had insisted on him borrowing the cash for a better lawyer to represent him in the case revisiting the custody arrangement and on the advice of the shark his buddies from the department had set him up with – more than one of his fellow detectives having gone through the divorce wringer themselves – countersuing for damages related to Rachel not abiding by clauses in their divorce settlement and current custody arrangement.

He’d never wanted Grace to be in the middle of an ugly battlefield like some of the kids he saw in his time as a beat cop or his friends growing up but he had to do what was right.

Letting Rachel use her as a weapon against him to get her way wasn’t right.

Realistically, he probably wasn’t going to be able to block the move to Hawaii entirely unless he wanted to play some _serious_ hardball.

Still, he’d be able – or so his lawyer assured him – to get some of his own back thanks to Stan and Rachel’s recent spate of bullshit, including the house that Stan was trying to sell even though it _didn’t belong to him or Rachel_ , which would make his own relocation to Hawaii easier.

Like alimony that he’d paid out since Rachel never _had_ informed the courts of when exactly her new marriage occurred and Danny was just too tired to care at the time.

Yeah, he’d move to Hawaii to let his daughter keep her relationship with her mother rather than try and strip Rachel’s rights over her bullshit altogether.

But over his _dead body_ was he going to fund Rachel and Step-Stan’s move in the process.

…

“He’s been reassigned, Harry.”

Harry’s fingers stilled on the keyboard he’d been using to do a bit of digging on his latest freelance analyst job he was doing for M as Q’s voice came over the connection to London while Alexis was down for their mid-morning nap.

There was no need to ask who _he_ was.

When it came to Harry and Q, there really was only one _he_ that Q would feel the need to keep him updated on – and indeed, he’d done just that ever since Harry’s approached him with the knowledge that Q’s favorite cousin was the erstwhile sire of his bundle of joy and likewise in an untenable position as an undercover operative in a risky situation that had M forbidding contact with Anthony as long as the situation remained unresolved.

If Q was bringing Tony up now, and with that particular news, it meant that Harry was about to be unceremoniously ousted from decision-making limbo regarding the matter of Alexis’s father.

“What’s happened?”

“Sanctions, blacksites, the whole nine yards.”  Q reported as he dug through the classified material on the long op his cousin had finally closed out.  “Eli David is having _quite_ the bad day.”  He sniffed.  “Which he more than deserves considering how significantly he overreached with his latest antics.”

“Is Tony safe?”  One-night-stand or not, consequences aside, Harry certainly didn’t want Tony to _die_ or end up on David’s blacklist.  Not the least of which among a host of reasons being that he didn’t want their child to end up collateral damage in a Mossad vendetta.

He, James, Alec and likely even Q, Neville, and Caelum would burn Mossad to the ground before any of them allowed one hair on Alexis’s coppery head to be harmed because Eli David’s nose was out of joint.

“To give credit where it’s due.”  Q allowed, albeit reluctantly since he was never a fan of this whole quagmire his cousin had been belly-deep in.  “Ms. Lange as done quite the excellent job filtering information through the different agencies to give the appearance of a multi-agency investigation rather than a one-man-mission to root out espionage.  Moving Anthony to a supervisory position a year ago was a masterstroke as it took him out of the direct line of suspicion and was perfectly inline with his career development plan.”

“When can we make contact?”  Harry asked the pertinent question.

Tony may decide that he wanted nothing to do with a random pickup from years ago, let alone their child, but that was Tony’s decision to make, one that if Harry had had his way would’ve been made when Tony was pulled off the Benoit op but Ms. Lange had successfully argued otherwise as she was aware – as no one else was at the time – of the underlying operation at hand.

An operation that was now complete or Tony wouldn’t be being reassigned and Q telling him of it.

“Ms. Lange reports that he is stretched rather to limit thanks to years undercover.”  Q answered reluctantly.  “He’s taken a promotion to Assistant Director of Special Operations with NCIS and will be undergoing a year of training under Assistant Director Vance and Ms. Lange herself.  She advises that with the position comes a choice of assignment base…and that she will attempt to subtly direct her godson towards Pearl Harbor over other options.”

“Another year?”  Harry asked, voice breaking a bit.  “Alexis is already walking.  They’ll be nearly three by the time his training is over.  Reg…he deserves to know and Alexis deserves to know their father.”

“He’s not in a good headspace, Harry.”  Q sighed, slumping a bit though his friend wasn’t there in London to see it.  “Long ops have never been good for him or easy to recover from.  Trust me.  As your friend and Anthony’s cousin, trust me that in a year when he’s done with his training that he’ll be a Tony DiNozzo you’d _want_ as the father of your child and not just the alpha that biology decided to shove on you.”

Harry buried his head in his hands, heart aching for his child who was just starting to understand that there _should_ be another piece to their little family that was very obviously missing.

Alexis was only a toddler now but in another year would be a full-on small child and smart as a whip if how quick they were learning was any sign.

How do you explain that Mummy’s friends didn’t think Daddy was safe for them to be around without it sounding like Tony was an abusive or dangerous thug?

“Harry.  Please.  You used to trust me with your life.  Has that changed?”

“No.”  He admitted after a long pause.  “No it hasn’t changed.  But,” he added before Q could sigh in relief.  “When he asks – and he’s going to – I’m going to make it clear that it was never my decision alone to keep his child away from him.”

“That’s fair.”

“Glad we’re agreed on that point at least.  Tell M that I’ll have that analysis on the Hesse brothers to her desk by Friday.  Potter out.”

…

_“Hey, Tony how’re you doing kid?”_

John McGarrett could still remember that gangly, mouthy kid he’d found in a hotel room at all of twelve years of age and cynical as the day was long.

That the kid’s old man had had the money and connections to make the neglect charges go away had burned – still did to this day – even when they had him dead-to-rights.

Tony had gone back to his boarding school, DiNozzo Senior to his business ventures, and John had found himself a tiny ball of rage and heartbreak to mentor.

He’d been proud as _hell_ when the kid had chosen to pursue policework after a bad tackle ruined his prospects at playing either pro football or basketball.

It was a balm to a wound that he didn’t think would ever heal when he’d had to send his own kids away for their own protection.

Steve at least talked to him still, albeit it could be hit or miss.

Mary hadn’t spoken to him in years.

Now here was Tony, not his son but definitely a kid he’d looked after and tried to do his best by, coming back to Hawai’i.

 _“Grilling on the lanai at my place, Friday.”_ John grinned down the line at the news that Tony was going to be landing soon on the island.  _“I’ll provide the shrimp and steaks, you bring the beer.”_

_“Sounds perfect, John.  See you then.”_

_…_

_September 1, 2010; NCIS Pearl Harbor_

“Aloha, Assistant Director DiNozzo.  Welcome to Hawai’i.”


End file.
